The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All
by writing-in-red
Summary: This is not a tale of long forgotten kings, or princesses who accidently locked themselves in the tower, or even of heroes banding together and taking what they want from hard-working despots. No. This is, in fact, a story concerning the absence of the narrative...
1. The Dawn Of What's Left

**The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All**

 **Part One:**

 **The Dawn Of What's Left**

It has to be said that this is not what you think it is. Yes, this is the discworld, a giant flat world resting on the backs of four relatively gianter elephants who themselves have to stand on something and that something is the most giantest turtle one could ever lay eyes on.* And this turtle, though incredibly giant, swims through a galaxy that makes giant look like a head of pin in a grand hall filled with mighty swords, battle axes, spears and other things that make the head of a pin appear even smaller than it already is.

And it is constant. As all things are. There is death and total destruction as there are ends for all and everything, but there is also constant. Just because something has ended doesn't mean it isn't still there. After all, how else do you explain funeral costs? It was a great King from long ago that declared, "Just because half my Kingdom fell off the edge of the disc, that doesn't make me half a King!" In fact, what did make him half a King was a very large sword being swung in a wide arc at about waist height.

But that's not what this is. This is not a tale of long forgotten kings, or princesses who accidently locked themselves in the tower, or even of heroes banding together and taking what they want from hard-working despots. No. This is, in fact, a story concerning the absence of the narrative...

It had been over a year. Rincewind couldn't believe it let alone understand. He had spent an entire day doing exactly what he had intended to do. Breakfast in the morning, then a short nap, then a leisurely walk around the grounds to look busy, then lunch, then second lunch, then another quick nap before meeting with the Archchancellor to discuss something important (but not really important) and enjoying a cigar and afternoon drink whilst they talked, then of course it was dinner, which was followed by downtime in the staff common room, which in turn inevitably led to The Librarian and Rincewind making the short walk into Ankh Morpork to sample the city's finest drink and food. At the end of the day, as it is now as Rincewind tries to believe, he had walked back to the University and somehow made his way to his quarters.

Lying in bed, staring up the ceiling, he could not believe it. Today had been a normal day. A perfect day, even. A day that was perfectly him. Nothing had got in his way or tried to kill him and no one had pulled him aside to whisper of prophecies, adventure or the oncoming end of the world. Absolutely everything was as it should be.

And as Rincewind tried to get his head round how strange it all felt - to have nothing strange happen to him - he realised with great horror and a terrible lurching feeling in his stomach that _every day_ over the past year had been like this.

He immediately sat up in bed. His eyes wide open. The all too normal grip on his intestines that every late night Dibbler's pie came with had been completely forgotten. This was serious. This was different. This could only mean bad things were happening or were about to happen. With this in mind, Rincewind knew he had to act. It was his duty as a wizard and as a professor of the most famous magical college in all the disc. Yes. He had to do something.

Tomorrow, after breakfast, he'd mention it to the Archchancellor.

 _* Actually, that's not strictly true, because Great A' Tuin is so large that your eyeballs would have to be the size of small moons to encompass him entirely. There is in fact only one with eyes big enough to see all of Great A' Tuin and that someone is, of course, Great A' Tuin himself._


	2. Big Trouble In Little Minds

**The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All**

 **Part Two:**

 **Big Trouble In Little Minds**

"Interesting," Ridcully said, in such a tone that heavily impled great disinterest.

"But what does it all mean?" Rincewind pressed, "What's going to happen?"

The two wizards sat in Ridcully's office. His crossbow hung on the wall surrounded by the heads of it's prey; deer, a wolf, two bears and something that looked suspiciously human. All of them had a look of surprise frozen on their face. With his ridiculously over-practical wizarding hat perched on his head and a large pipe puffing away from the corner of his mouth, Ridcully sat back and pretended to think deep thoughts.

This Rincewind fellow had been bothering him lately. Talking to him, sharing a drink, a smoke and a friendly chat. It was unusual to say the least. Even friendly wizards would keep up a front of competition with their fellows, their lessers and, especially, their betters. With this in mind, Ridcully was always especially picked out by every wizard to be competed with and to get one over, as it were. But this Rincewind... There was no competition, no underlying bitterness, no foul-mouthed taunts or wise-cracks. It was, Ridcully sighed, nice.

Whoever heard of a nice wizard?

"Let me get this straight," He began, "You've noticed that nothing bad has happened lately?"

"Yes."

"And you've been living your life in harmonious comfort after many adventures and trials?"

"Yes."

"And you think this is bad?"

"No!"

"Then what's the problem, man?"

"I don't think it's bad!" Rincewind exasperated, "That's the problem! Nothing's bad! Nothing's going wrong, no one is trying to take over the disc, nobody's coming up with some stupid steam powered contraption or rousing the entire city into a bunch of ball kicking mobs! Nothing is out of place and everything is as it should be!"

"I see," Ridcully didn't see.

"Don't you understand? _Nothing_ is out of place. Doesn't that terrify you!?"

"Rincewind, how long have you been a professor with us?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I think maybe the stress of the job is getting to you."

"That's my point," Rincewind stood up, pacing because pacing always helps when your brain is talking faster than your mouth, "There is no stress. No worries or problems or anything."

"I'm still failing to see the problem with their being no problems?"

"Think about it, think about everything that _can_ go wrong, everything that in the past has gone wrong, think about the millions and millions of wrong possibilities, the billions of mistakes, the infinite number of fools, con men, dictators and bastards born every minute of every day. Think about all that. Now, none of that is happening."

"And that's... bad?"

"It's not right."

Oh bother. Whatever Rincewind was going on about, whatever this raggedy, red haired scarecrow in wizard's robes was trying to say, a seed had dropped into Ridcully's mind.

"Hm," Ridcully said, "Now that you mention it... that doesn't sound right at all."

* * *

WHAT IS IT NOW?

The voice echoed between realities. It shook the ground. It cracked open the sky. It was, is and will be. A voice spoken but unspoken. Always and never. A voice where the words were a mere afterthought. A voice... of immense uninterest.

"That tone isn't helping," Ridcully moaned. If Death took offence then those empty eye sockets of purest darkness did not show it. "A bit of respect for AshkEnte wouldn't go amiss, hey?"

RESPECT? IN MY EXPERIENCE, RESPECT IS THE FIRST THING FORGOTTEN.

"I've known quite a few good fellows who died with a lot of dignity and pride. Thank you very much!" Ridcully harrumphed.

DYING WITH PRIDE IS EASY. REALISING YOU REALLY ARE DEAD IS QUITE SOMETHING ELSE.

Ridcully was about to retort. Rincewind could see the deep breath, the eyes narrowing and the chest puffing out. If he didn't stop this now it would go on and on till one of them dropped dead... and Rincewind knew how competitve Ridcully could be.

"We haven't got time for this, Archchancellor," Rincewind pleaded, "Remember?"

"Oh, yes, alright," Ridcully relented, "Now, Death, I have summoned you on a matter of great importance."

IT DOESN'T FEEL IMPORTANT.

"Your attitude is appalling!"

THERE ARE ONLY TWO OF YOU.

"We did ask the faculty but they didn't show much interest."

"Shut up, Rincewind!"

NOW THERE IS A LACK OF RESPECT. HERE I AM AT YOUR BECK AND CALL, WILLING TO REVEAL THE GREAT SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE SHOULD YOU JUST ASK... AND ONLY TWO OF YOU SHOWED. _THAT_ IS A LACK OF RESPECT.

"Sorry," Rincewind said, only to get a sharp shove from Ridcully for his troubles.

"Death, I have but one question."

GET ON WITH IT.

"I ask," Ridcully continued, pretending Death hadn't said anything, "A simple question... Is everything alright?"

WHAT?

"Is everything... alright?"

WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

"Well, is every... thing... as it should be? Nothing out of the ordinary? No problems?"

The silence lasted forever. It was the emptiness of thought. The manifestation of an idea crashing headlong into a road barrier. It took Death a mere few moments, which may as well have been all of eternity, to fathom a response.

I... SUPPOSE SO.

"You don't sound convinced," Rincewind chimed in.

I DON'T KNOW. SHOULD THERE BE SOMETHING WRONG?

"I don't know what _should_ be!" Ridcully growled, "That's why we called you here!"

FAIR POINT. OKAY. I'M NOT AWARE OF ANYTHING OUT OF THE ORDINARY.

"Good. There, Rincewind, does that settle things."

"No!" Rincewind stepped forward. He knew Death, he had had more than his fair share of close encounters and so he, probably more than anyone else on the disc, felt somewhat comfortable talking, "Isn't that wrong?"

"He's just said nothing's wrong!"

"But something's always wrong!" Rincewind turned back to Death, "Isn't it!? There's always a plague or a drought or an evil army or a mad sorcerer. There's always something!"

BUT NOT ANYMORE.

"What?"

HM. THIS COULD BE PROBLEMATIC.

"Problematic!?" Ridcully squeaked, "You told us nothing was wrong not ten seconds ago!"

AND I WAS RIGHT. BUT THIS IS NOT HOW IT SHOULD BE. THIS IS NOT WHAT WE ARE.

"What are you talking about!?"

I... DON'T KNOW.

"You don't know?" Rincewind said, surprised.

I DON'T KNOW. GOSH. IS THIS WHAT YOU FEEL LIKE ALL THE TIME?

"Pretty much," Rincewind sighed.

YOU ARE CORRECT, WIZARDS. EVERYTHING IS AS IT SHOULD BE AND THIS IS NOT HOW LIFE IS MEANT TO BE.

"What can be done, then?" Ridcully asked.

ALAS, I KNOW NOT.

"You're not being very helpful!"

I AM AS YOU ARE. I CANNOT KNOW WHAT IS BEYOND EVEN DEATH ITSELF.

"What can be beyond Death?"

"More life?" Rincewind suggested meakly.

WHO KNOWS? ONLY ONE, OF COURSE.

"Who?"

THE MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT ALL OTHERS DO NOT.

"I haven't heard of such a man." Ridcully felt affronted. He would pride himself on knowing the names at least of anyone he deemed relatively important across the disc.

OF COURSE YOU HAVEN'T. HE HAS HIDDEN HIMSELF FROM CIVILIZATION. YOU MUST FIND HIM THOUGH, IF YOU ARE TO DISCOVER WHAT IS WRONG WITH EVERYTHING BEING RIGHT.

"This is giving me a headache."

"Where do we find this man?" Rincewind asked, surprising even himself.

ON THE FARTHEST CORNER OF THE DISC.

And Death was gone. Where once a dark cloaked skeleton had stood there was now only a stone floor and a dribbly candle clinging on to it's flickering life.

"Oh, goodness," Rincewind sighed.

"What is it?"

"I've just realised... I'm going to have to follow through with this."

"Yes, good luck with that, think of it as a work-related venture."

"Please don't make this any worse than it already is."

"I'm not quite sure on one point, though."

"What?"

"Death told us we'd find this 'man with the answers' on the farthest corner of the disc," Ridcully said, "But, there's just one thing that bothers me..."

"Only one?"

"Just something he said."

"What is it?"

"The farthest corner of the disc."

"What about it!?"

"The disc is round."


	3. No Map To Speak Of And One Funeral For 2

**The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All**

 **Part Three:**

 **No Map To Speak Of And One Funeral For Two**

"But you have maps for everything!" Rincewind moaned, "You have maps of every country, city and continent! You have maps of places that have been lost for millenia and maps of other places that aren't due for another millenia! I can't believe that in the most amazing library on all the disc you can't find me one map that shows me one corner!"

"Ook."

"Yes," He was getting tired of hearing this, "I know the disc is round. I know it doesn't have any corners."

"Ook."

"Well it isn't good enough - " But Rincewind stopped. An epiphany hit him at the speed of a runaway train going downhill with buttery wheels and an angry enginner giving it a good shove from the back.

He suddenly realised how hard it must have been. For Fate, for the kangaroo, for the tourist, for the hat... getting people to help you, getting people to go on an adventure, asking others to stick their neck out. He had never been on this side of the adventure - the instigator, one might say - and he wasn't altogether sure why he was on this side now.

"Ook?"

"I suppose." Rincewind felt the fire trickle from his belly, "Can you find me a good chair and a reading desk?"

"Ook."

Understanding The Librarian isn't down to a secret or a great mystical connection. It's all down to listening. Listening not for the words said but how they are said. You can say anything you like but it all comes down to how you say it. Words, really, just get in the way of what someone is trying to say.

Rincewind knew though that even the lowliest listener could have understood what The Librarian had just said to him. Do it yourself.

* * *

Young Sam felt the weight of the eyes. Everyone staring at him. Everyone thinking about him. Everyone wondering what would happen now. No one talking to him though. He wasn't upset about this. In fact, he was thankful that everyone treated him like a sleeping dragon. Sleeping dragons get to sleep, at least.

It was raining. Of course it was raining. As one might expect, large clouds were doing a fine job of blocking out any natural light and just generally hanging over Ankh Morpork like a giant hand about to squish the tiny ant. The rain, the clouds, the sodden black attire, the squelching of many expensive pairs of footwear in the mud, and the colour of grey. It was all here.

This was Young Sam's first funeral. A funeral for two. He sat at the front, closest to the priest, and across the aisle opposite him sat The Patrician. The tall, slender man all in black with a sombre face, melancholy expression and eyes that resembled narrow pits of endless darkness and hopelessness.*

Behind Young Sam the nobility of Ankh Morpork and many visiting dignitaries, ambassadors and other important figures sat in respectful silence. The priest's voice was the only sound in the cavernous hall. The two coffins, positioned side by side and at the front for all to see, were all too real. Their normal size, their simple appearance, and even how the light reflected in the polish surface, felt to Young Sam rather underwhelming.

Shouldn't he be crying? Shouldn't he be crushed? He felt sad, of course, and lost perhaps, but we all feel sad and we all feel lost. This didn't feel special. It felt ordinary. Burying one's own parents, at the age of eleven, should be harder than this.

The rain continued to patter against the roof and windows and the dim, depressing light only added to the 'as expected' atmosphere of a notable funeral. Crowds had gathered outside to pay their respects to Her Grace, The Duchess of Ankh, Lady Sybil Deidre Olgivanna Vimes and her husband, His Grace, His Excellency, The Duke Of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes. The two had formed not just a highly respected reputation amongst the uppers of society but had also endeared themselves to everyone else, which is no mean feat at all. In recent years, and to His Grace's great discomfort, they had been referred to as the heart and soul of Ankh Morpork. The heart being the caring and generous Lady Sybil, of course, and the soul being the sole man between complete chaos and just enough chaos for society to function properly.

Young Sam survived them. He had not been travelling with them so had not been present when the unpleasant business struck. He knew how his parents had died but it didn't make much difference. They were dead. They surely had bigger problems now. Or maybe they didn't. Maybe his father and his mother were at this moment sitting on a fluffy cloud, his mother playing a golden harp and his father trying desperately despite this to rest in peace. Wherever they were, and Young Sam had no doubt they were _somewhere_ , he sincerely hoped that they were resting peacefully. They had earned that much, at least.

 _* It is worth noting that his appearance has nothing to do with the occasion._


	4. To Venture Forth On A Quest For Inner--

**The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All**

 **Part Four:**

 **To Venture Forth On A Quest For Inner Peace, Armed With An Axe At All Times**

"Mr. Stibbons?" He was nowhere to be found and by 'nowhere to be found' Ridcully of course meant 'why isn't he right here in front of me when I need him?'

This whole business that Rincewind had brought up had Ridcully troubled and, though he would never admit it even to himself, out of his depth. The young(ish) man who more often than not knew about things was not in his study, or in the High Energy Magic department or anywhere else in the university. Ridcully reached this conclusion by actually going to Stibbons' study himself - which is a mark of how genuinely worried Ridcully was - and sending a quickly scribbled note to the High Energy Magic Department. With no reply from the department and no clue in the study, Ridcully rightly assumed that Stibbons was missing.

Now he gave it some thought though, Ridcully realised that he hadn't been seeing much of Stibbons at all lately. Barely ever, even. Come to think of it... when was the last time he had seen the lanky chap at meals? Hm.

A good Archchancellor should know where his staff are at all times. As Ridcully believed though, a great Archchancellor knows it is the responsibility of the staff to make themselves known at all times.

* * *

Hours became days, days became weeks, and the weeks became nearly two months and still... still... Rincewind could find no corners, no ancient instructions, no helpful legends, nothing, not a thing. The man who knows what all others do not and could only be found on the farthest corner of the disc led Rincewind to think this man did not want to be found.

No corners, no help, no progress. Frustration was setting in. The night was old now and the university rested. The silence and the darkness closed in around him. His little candle his only defence and the latest maps and documents on the reading desk his only hope. The library was trying to tell him something. The closeness of the air seemed to whisper in Rincewind's ear.

This is the way.

It was like a drop. A rain drop falling from an unseen sky, through infinite versions of realities and ideas, and landing with a miniscule plip in the epicentre of Rincewind's thought process.

This is the way.

It didn't help much. In fact, Rincewind dismissed it as his own brain wandering off momentarily and coming back with a random collection of words it had happily strung together - like a dog wagging it's tail after bringing back a dead pidgeon. He sighed. He breathed deeply. His cheek slipped off his supporting hand and he almost knocked himself out on the reading desk.

It was a slog. A slog of slogs. And then there it was. Right in front of him. The drop dimissed and pushed aside, his mind suddenly racing a thousand miles an hour and his eyes wide open and focused on... the corner. The corner. The farthest corner.

The disc in all it's glory had been drawn expertly on the large parchment in front of him. At the edge of the disc there were no corners because a disc isn't a disc if it has corners. Rincewind knew this for sure and yet he saw now the farthest corner of the disc. The turtle's round nose poked out from underneath the disc, either side of it four curved flippers could also be seen, and at the back, being _of_ the disc but not _the_ disc, was a pointy tail - and unmistakeably corner shaped it was.

It was stretching the realms of logic beyond the borders but this, as far as Rincewind was concerned, was how all quests began...

* * *

"What now?"

Young Sam waited patiently. The question had been asked of him but his instincts told him that, in the presence of The Patrician, silence was not only golden but also essential to one's own well being. He had visited the oblong office before with his father and had dutifully waited in silence whilst his father had also dutifully waited in silence whilst The Patrician decided whose duty it was now to wait in eternal silence.

"Indeed," The Patrician began the answer to his own question, "You are something of a quandary, my little friend. Where to put you... I imagine you have wondered on this yourself. No?"

Actually, Young Sam hadn't. He supposed now that he should have been thinking along these lines from the moment he was told of his parents' death. Maybe it was the trauma or maybe he just hadn't thought he'd need to worry about such things. He was a privileged young man, after all. Well thought of throughout the city and destined to hold a title and rank of note in the not too distant future. The trouble with the not too distant future however is it feels a million years away from the here and now.

"A thought occurs to me," The Patrician smiled and suddenly Young Sam understood perfectly what his father had meant by 'the smile that freezes your soul'.

"Would you be willing to take part in..." The Patrician sought for the right words, "... an exchange program, of sorts?"

"Erm," Young Sam now felt that a reply was demanded of him*, "Where would I be exchanged to... exactly?"

"Oh, I wouldn't trouble yourself with trivial details like where and how and for how long," The Patrician smiled again, "It is, after all, just politics."

Young Sam suddenly felt very, very alone.

* * *

Rincewind knew where he had to go. He had no idea how or how much it would cost him** but now, finally, he knew where. A scarcely known civlization that was conveniently located at the edge of the disc, directly above Great A'Tuin's tail.

His bones told him this was where he had to go. He felt just as he had felt on the dawn of all those other adventures, all those times that he had ventured forth not knowing of the terrible dangers and scary people that were waiting for him. This was how things should be. Right?

Right?

* * *

Young Sam was confused and a little bit angry. He'd gone from being the darling son of the city's hottest couple to being swapped out to a place so far away it's time zone was technically Ankh Morpork's history. The Patrician had explained how this worked but Young Sam hadn't listened. He didn't care for where he was going. In what struck him as incredibly selfish, he realised that he was only now starting to truly miss his mum and dad.

Whoever heard of a place called Tail's End, anyway?

 _* There are two forms of speech when it comes to talking to The Patrican; speak never or speak quickly._

 _** Or the university's expeditionary fund, at least._


	5. To Tail's End

**The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All**

 **Part Five:**

 **To Tail's End**

Coincidence is an interesting thing. There is a fine line between coincidence and fate and that fine line is whether you make the coincidence work for you or against you. Everything can be turned into an advantage just as anything, no matter how beautiful or beneficiary, can slip away into disadvantage. Unfortunately, and despite his extensive history of misadventures turning into heroic quests, Rincewind was not wise to this.

He had to go to Tail's End - a half-forgotten tiny civilization that lived directly above Great A'Tuin's pointy tail. He was absolutely, a hundred percent, sure of this. There was no real reason. But there had been too much real lately and not enough sense. This made sense, at least it did to Rincewind. Once there, Rincewind hoped to find some way of reaching the tail itself, on which Rincewind had no reason to believe a man who knew all that others did not lived. This made sense. How he would manage this he did not know but he figured that this man had found a way so all he had to do was look.

This was all shaping up rather nicely, and by nicely Rincewind meant potentially terrifying and almost certainly life threatening. But it made sense. In his head. In his heart. This is what he knows.

What he didn't know was exactly how he would reach Tail's End in the first place. That is until he ventured to Morpork's docks only to find a ship about to set sail for Tail's End imminently. What a stroke of luck. What a convenient coincidence. What a - oh god, is that The Patrician?

Rincewind ducked. He had no idea why he ducked. It's just something built into his bones when faced with such an obvious threat. The Patrician hadn't noticed him which meant that The Patrician was not letting on that he had in fact noticed him. What didn't help Rincewind's cause was the luggage. It's difficult enough to hide when you're a grown, scraggly man wearing a long red robe and a red pointy hat with stars on it and the letters WIZZARD written in large letters on said hat. Such a challenge pales in comparison however when trying to hide a giant luggage that just so happens to be sentient _and_ possess hundreds of very capable (and fast) feet.

"You are ready, then?" The Patrician asked the question of a young, rosy-cheeked and blonde haired boy.

"I am." Young Sam lied.

"The people of Tail's End are different to us, but I am assured that your safety and well being is guarunteed," The Patrician said, "And I am sure you will learn much from our distant neighbours."

"I'm sure I will. Erm, who am I being exchanged with exactly?"

"Hm? Oh. The people of Tail's End are unfamiliar with the exchanging program so we had to adjust." The Patrician allowed himself an ever so slight smile, "We send them you to improve diplomatic and cultural relations and they, in turn, honour us with a gift."

"A gift?"

"A gift."

"Can I see it?"

The Patrician paused, he was about to go into a long and detailed explanation of why Young Sam could definitely not see it and why there was absolutely no way that The Patrician could even reveal the nature of the gift that had already been received. But he stopped and reminded himself that he was dealing with an eleven year old boy.

"No." The Patrician said, "Goodbye, Young Sam Vimes."

Hmph. Young Sam hated being treated like a child which was made all the more frustrating by the obvious fact that he still was a child. There was nothing for it, though. The guards waited expectantly, the sailors on the ship waited to cast off, the captain, standing at the walkway, looked as if a small stroke was incoming if he had to stay in the presence of The Patrician a moment longer. And The Patrician... The Patrician was unreadable. A man who knew. What he knew one could never possibly fathom but all the same... he knew.

The moment Young Sam stepped foot onto the ship, The Patrician and his guard about turned and left. The captain, relieved to put it mildly, started barking orders a little quicker than usual and the sailors readied to cast off.

"Excuse me!?" A voice called out from the dock.

Young Sam looked round, as did the sailors and the captain, and saw what could only be described as someone _trying_ to be a wizard.

"Yes?" The captain responded.

"Can I go with you?" He could have said anything like "I demand passage!" or "You will take me forth!" or even "The great will of the gathered council of magics of the disc formerly acknowledge that you are to surrender your vessel to I, Rincewind of the Unseen University, in accordance with my wishes and those of a higher power!" but no, Rincewind settled for, "Can I go with you?"

"Er," The captain erred.

"I am a wizard, ater all," Rincewind made his case, instead of smiting the captain for erring in his presence as some wizards have been known to do.

The captain agreed* and within a few minutes Rincewind was on board, with his luggage, accompanying the only other passenger, Young Sam, on the long journey to Tail's End.

 _* After all, it bodes well for a journey to have a wizard travelling with you. Everyone knows that. The captain especially. If only the captain had known Rincewind._


	6. Has It Been A Year Already?

**The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All**

 **Part Six:**

 **Has It Been A Year Already?**

A whole year? Surely not. Could it have been? How many days in a year again? Too many days in a year, no doubt about it, and Rincewind was certainly feeling that he had been on this boat for too many days. So, if logic was good for anything, Rincewind had been on this cursed boat for a year... or maybe a few months. A bloody long time however long it had actually been.

Whether it had been a year, a few months or just a very long afternoon, Rincewind was sick and tired of looking at water and sky and boat and water and sky and boat and water and sky and boat and water and - just to mix thing up a bit - boat and sky. He hated travelling. He hated the sea. He really hated travelling across the sea. And the company had been awful. Dirty, rude sailors laughing at him and teasing him, the captain trying to get him to reveal secret spells of fortune and an eleven year old boy who seemed content to sit at the front of the boat and stare at the horizon. Oh, there was the luggage as well, of course, but Rincewind had noted that the big, wooden, walking box had been spending a lot of time with the big, wooden barrels in the bottom of the boat.

And only now was Rincewind thinking of the luggage, and the truly awful company, and the hellish boredom of travelling and... and... and why now? Why was he suddenly aware of everything happening around him? Maybe it was the sight of dry land that pulled his conscious mind out of hibernation, or maybe he was even simpler than he previously thought, but Rincewind certainly got the unnerving feeling that eventhough he remembered the journey perfectly well and how terrible it had been it didn't feel as if it had actually happened. It had to have happened of course but that's not to say that it had happened to Rincewind. Or maybe Rincewind was overthinking everything at the moment, getting himself all wound up with this quest he had thrown himself into.

In fact, Rincewind was now starting to feel like his old self again. It was the land. It had to be the land. Those sandy beaches, those tropical trees, that lovely ripple of the waves, those scantily clad tribesmen with big spears and unnecessary tattoos that covered their entire bodies...

"Erm," Rincewind squeaked, "We're passing awfully close to the shore, don't you think?"

"Don't worry about them," The captain smiled, "They're there for show more than anything."

"For show?"

"Yeah, for the tourists."

"Oh, tourism," Rincewind had long ago spent some time with what he suspected had been the disc's very first tourist and, in the years that followed, every now and then another would pop up, usually in a group and wanting to see the wonders the disc had to offer. "They like this sort of thing, then?"

"Oh no. Crikey," The captain replied, "They do that to keep the tourists away."

"Oh." Rincewind suddenly felt a great understanding with those angry tribe people.

* * *

 **There you are!**

 _Wait - What!?_

 **I've been looking for you everywhere!**

 _How are you doing this!? How are you talking to me!?_

 **That's not important right now.**

 _Not important! Of course it's important! You're breaking every rule in the book here!*_

 **Stop arguing! If I say it's not important then it's not important!**

 _Well, I think it is important!_

 **It isn't!**

 _It is!_

 **It isn't!**

 _It is!**_

 **It really isn't! Stop! I need to tell you something.**

 _What could you possibly need to tell me? And what are you anyway?_

 **To answer your first question, Rincewind is lost, you need someone to go and find him.**

 _Oh. Who?_

 **Anyone who can absolutely, definitely, without any shade of a doubt, find someone else whilst at the same time not knowing who they are trying to find or why.**

 _It's important, then?_

 **Extremely.**

 _And to answer my second question._

 **One thing at a time.**

* * *

She awoke, which was strange, and she opened her eyes with relative ease, which was also very strange. Her back hurt but, then again, her back always hurt, or at least it had in the last few weeks. Everything seemed very normal which was certainly not how it should be. It took her a few moments to realise just how disc-shatteringly normal everything had become.

So, she hurumphed to herself, this is what happens when I die, is it?

She could feel many minds nearby. Most of them were worms. There were a few useful ones however, like a family of badgers... a family of badgers that suddenly felt compelled to dig, dig and dig some more.

It took a while. A passing mole was similarly compelled to help the badgers and a hungry fox decided that it wasn't hungry and wandered off somewhere else. It took a long while. She had to focus herself. Lesser people would have panicked in such a confined space. She was not lesser people.

Eventually, the earth broke and beams of moonlight shone on her old, weathered skin for the first time in what felt like a very long time. She sat up and coughed up a mouthful of dirt and various gruesome bodily fluids. As she stared down at what had just come out of her and she took her first few breaths back on the mortal plain, she had one thought and it was a rather angry one;

This had better be worth it.

 _*Considering this story, this can be seen as either really rather clever or so far up it's own arse no one can understand what it's trying to say._

 _**Due to the cosmic dimensions, a lack of any time and the unexplainable existence that this conversation was being undertaken in, this specific back and forth sparked several atomic and mystical collisions that would go on to expand and develop into all known realities and worlds... Don't let anyone tell you arguing doesn't get you anywhere._


	7. Cannibals, A Corpse & A Cup of Tea Pt 1

**The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All**

 **Part Seven:**

 **Cannibals, A Corpse and A Cup of Tea Pt. 1**

Thoughts can present very interesting problems. The thought itself can be beyond ridiculous, in fact, it can be so far beyond ridiculous that it would need a detailed map, a compass, a sturdy camel laden with rations and an impressive billowing travelling cloak if it ever wanted to turn back and return to the point of being _just_ ridiculous. But how ridiculous the thought might be is irrelevant to the very interesting problem that all thoughts incur.

For example, a shady, untrustworthy salesman of the cut-me-own-throat variety might offer you a flagon of meed and promise that said flagon would never run out of said meed no matter how much one drinks from it. This is, of course, ridiculous and impossible* however the thought of such a thing has dropped itself into your mind and found a nice place to curl up and sleep. Now, no matter what you say, think or do, the existence of an impossible flagon of meed will always have a spot in your sub-conscious mind, every now and then appearing in your conscious mind to paw at your train of thought and distract you with those big, round, hungry eyes.

This is what happened to Granny Weatherwax and the thought was this; find him and get him to Tail's End.

* * *

The thoughts running through Rincewind's mind at this current point in time were as follows; ow, my wrists hurt, oh, they're tied to this wooden stick, ah, I appear to be hanging upside down, hm, what's that burning below me, ooh, something smells nice, mmm, smells like chicken -

It was at this point that Rincewind learned that when a tribe of very real cannibals had tied him up, hung him over a bonfire and started to cook him, that he smells very much like chicken.

* * *

Young Sam meanwhile was learning what it felt like to regain consciousness after falling from a boat, landing in the sea**, losing consciousness, swallowing _a lot_ of sea water, fortunately washing up on a sandy beach and then unfortunately swallowing only quite a bit but still a substantial amount of sand before finally regaining consciousness. It was not a good feeling.

He got to his feet and looked around. What he saw was beach, sea... and that's it. No boat, no crew, no captain and no useless bloody wizard that accidentally blew up half the boat when those tribesmen started to board.

* * *

It wasn't so much a house as an idea of a house that has manifested itself. There's a difference between the two but you'd only understand the difference if you saw the house with your own two eyes. Unfortunately, to see this house in particular, you would have to be dead. There had been exceptions but they had only served to prove the rule. One such exception was taking an especially long time to prove the rule and, considering that in this place time was a very loose idea, this meant that he had been a servant in this house for a very, very long time.

Albert carried the silver tray, laden with tea and biscuits, into the study. Death watched him do this and wondered why Albert had taken up such a habit.

"Tea, Master?" The old man inquired, "Biscuits?"

ALBERT, THIS IS NOT NECESSARY.

"I can't imagine tea and biscuits ever being necessary, Master. But people enjoy them all the same."

YOU MISUNDERSTAND. I AM DEATH. DEATH DOES NOT REQUIRE SUCH THINGS AS TEA AND BISCUITS.

"I know," Albert sighed, "But it's more for them than it is for you, Master."

Albert indicated the cats. Some of them slept in between the hourglasses, others watched the grains of sand fall from top to bottom and quite a few now congregated around Albert's legs, curious and excited at what the fragile human had brought in with him.

"It's a routine for them." Albert explained, pointlessly pouring a cup of tea on the large, stoney black desk, and laying a few biscuits neatly on the saucer plate.

I SEE.

"Do you, Master?"

NOT REALLY.

"Well, if you don't mind..." Words spoken in such a way that emphasized how irritable and annoying it would be if one did actually mind.

DO AS YOU PLEASE, ALBERT.

"Thank you, Master." And then, just for the sake of conversation to fill the endless, crushing silence, Albert added, "How are we today, Master?"

NOT WELL. SOMETHING IS BEGINNING.

"Oh." Albert longed dearly for the endless, crushing silence.

 _*Though like most things that are ridiculous and impossible, it exists. It exists in a particular universe that unfortunately now consists entirely of meed after an absent-minded fellow forgot to say "when"._

 _**The smart arse might scoff at this and say something annoying like "Well, where else would you land if you fell out of a boat?" to which one is inclined to reply "I don't know but you'd jolly well hit it!"_


	8. Cannibals, A Corpse & A Cup of Tea Pt 2

**The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All**

 **Part Eight:**

 **Cannibals, A Corpse and A Cup of Tea Pt. 2**

"Excuse me?" Rincewind tried, "Excuse me, if I might be so bold -"

The tribe cook continued to stoke the flames under Rincewind, the tribe assistants to the cook were busy sharpening cutting tools and preparing the vegetables.

"- it's just I couldn't help noticing that you're going to eat me -"

The chief of the tribe, a large chap with a big mouth, watched over proceedings with an air of satisfaction.

"- but if I might make a suggestion -"

The tribe women were setting out the crockery.

"- there are alternatives -"

The children of the tribe played games amongst themselves. No doubt working up an appettite.

"- and I'd be happy to show you how to make my own grassweed soup."

It was hopeless. But Rincewind had been in a lot of hopeless situations before and he'd always managed to get by without any hope at all.

"Look," He continued, exhausted and sweating, "I won't even taste nice. I know I won't. I'll be all tough and stringy. I haven't led an easy life. I'm not free range!"

This didn't seem to bother the tribe.

"Okay, it's really starting to get rather hot now."

Where is that bloody luggage? When all else failed, when every clever, ingenious turn of events fell flat, Rincewind could always rely on a giant chest bounding into the scene at the last moment to get him out of a sticky situation. Anytime now... like right now... gosh, isn't that fire getting hot... leaving it to the very last moment... classic luggage... okay, getting very hot now... _where is that bloody luggage!?_

The chief of the tribe picked up a particularly large cutting tool, then made a small but meaningful speech to the watching tribesmen before advancing on Rincewind.

"Wait! I'm not cooked yet!"

The chief, with his drooling mouth and insane eyes, raised the tool above Rincewind and brought it down before -

\- the tool slipped from his hand and fell harmlessly by Rincewind's nose*. Rincewind opened his eyes and saw that an arrow had entered the chief's back and stuck out of his chest. The chief looked down as if bemused that something so ordinary like getting shot could happen to him. Then he keeled over, very much dead.

"Erm," Rincewind said, and the rest of the tribe seemed to share this sentiment.

For a moment at least.

The tribe burst to life. Warriors picking up spears, bows, shields and other hitting things whilst the women and the children fled to the safety of their mud huts. All of them forgot about Rincewind but that's to be expected. No one saves the turkey in the oven when the christmas tree is on fire and burning down the living room.

Rincewind didn't bother calling for help. He knew an opportunity when he saw one and this was a big one. Yes, there was still a fire underneath him, but these ropes around his wrists and ankles wouldn't take long to squeeze out of. In fact, they took barely a minute. It's incredible what one can achieve with the right motivation behind him, or in this case, under him.

After rolling around in the sand to put the flames out, Rincewind scrambled to his feet and ran. His burnt robe gave off thin black smoke trails and his hat, which incredibly had not only survived an explosion on a boat, almost being drowned, dragged by tribesmen and hung over a fire to cook, but had also stayed perched on top of it's owner's head, was still a little bit on fire. This wasn't going to stop Rincewind though. Nothing would stop him putting as much distance between himself and those cannibals as possible.

As it turned out, the distance possible wasn't very much at all. It was a rather small island and Rincewind soon found himself at the shore. And then he saw it.

"You!" He cried out, "Where have you been!?"

He stomped across the sand, reached the splashing waves and gave the luggage a good kick. It didn't react. Rincewind did though, in the fashion of jumping up and down, holding one's foot and shouting "Bugger!". Finally, he turned his attention back to the luggage which still hadn't moved.

"Here's a fine thing!" Rincewind moaned, "What's the matter?"

It was only now that Rincewind could see the bottom of the luggage and it was quite horrifying. Where there should have been hundreds of little legs there was now just... the bottom of an ordinary luggage, all wood and plain.

But this was certainly his luggage. The decoration, the structure and the fact that this was a desert island so how many luggage chests could there be anyway. Rincewind opened the luggage and saw that it held some clean underwear, a small purse of coins and a decree from the Unseen University granting him leave for an expedition. In other words, everything Rincewind had packed.

He closed the luggage and opened it again. The contents were the same as before. He closed it once more and tried to move it which he managed to do, with some difficulty, but this in itself was strange. Rincewind had never had to move the luggage before. Even when it had been sleeping and Rincewind had tried, the luggage would become so heavy as to make such movement impossible.

It was, by all accounts, an ordinary luggage chest.

Rincewind found himself lost and in such a way he had not experienced before.

 _*Okay, there was an inch to spare, but still no harm was done._


	9. Nothing To See Here

**The Uninteresting Saga Of Not Very Much At All**

 **Part Nine:**

 **Nothing To See Here**

"Oh dear."

"What is it?" Granny said. The horse and cart had come to an abrupt halt despite being in the middle of the countryside.

"Nothing, madam." The travelling merchant said, altogether unconvincingly.

"Are we there then?" Granny was lying in the back, amongst the hay. She had started her journey immediately and not gone to either Nanny or Tiffany. Their goodbyes had been said and it wouldn't be fair to them or herself to spoil what is at rest.

"Not exactly." The merchant was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

Granny sighed and opened her eyes. She had hoped to catch a few winks before reaching the city. It's not that she felt tired as such, more that she felt... stretched.

"Hm," She said as she sat up front with the merchant, "This isn't good."

"What is it?"

"It's nothing, just as you said," Granny explained.

What lay before them should have been the road to Ankh Morpork, some trees either side of it, blue sky above and maybe a bandit or two waiting to jump out on them only then for Granny to have a few words with them before deciding to head off back to Law school. What actually lay before them was nothing in it's most literal sense. The absence of existence. A black hole where reality should have been.

"Doesn't look safe to me," The merchant said.

"It makes perfect sense, of course."

"Eh?"

"This is the road to Ankh, the space in between Lancre and Ankh Morpork," Granny said, the merchant nodded, "Nothing happens here. It's just here so that Lancre and Ankh Morpork aren't side-by-side."

"I don't understand."

"Don't worry, I do understand," Granny said, as if this was supposed to calm anyone, "This is how it starts, you see. People forget, memories fade, the little places that aren't important slip away. No one notices them when they're here and everyone pays them the least bit attention, which is why they're the first to go."

"Go where?"

"Just go."

"Oh."

"O' course, it doesn't stop, soon people aren't remembering what this place was called or where that witch lived, and in time Lancre disappears too, and even Ankh Morpork will follow." Granny sighed, "Like an ice plain, breaking apart bit by bit and melting in the sea."

"Erm..." The merchant offered.

"Ride on, man."

"... Erm?" The merchant offered again.

"This is all to the good," Granny said, "It'll cut the whole journey out if we keep our heads."

"Might we lose our heads, then?"

"Not if we're careful."

"I really don't want to, if you don't mind," The merchant felt Granny's eyes on him, he daren't actually look at them, "I'm sorry, I am, but I think deep down you're a good person and you wouldn't force me to go into that... black hole of nothing. I am sorry."

"I know you're sorry," Granny softened, "And you're right, I am a good person deep down... which is why I apologize in advance."

Granny stuck a pin into the merchant's hand. The pain was sudden, sharp and overwhelming. He yanked on the reins and the horse burst forward... into nothing.

And there was nothing.

"Wargh! Where are we!?"

"Nowhere."

"I don't like it!"

"I'm sure you don't, now concentrate. Does your hand still hurt?"

"Yes! Yes, it does!"

"Good."

"Good!?"

"Yes. Hold onto the pain. Remember it. Keeps your mind focused. Stops you fromt drifting apart."

"Drifting apart?"

"We're in nowhere. Nothing _can_ happen to you. And when it happens to you, there's no going back."

"Oh. How do we get out?"

"Follow my voice. Keep close. I'm going to drop us where we need to be."

"Back home?"

"In a very broad manner of speaking, yes."

* * *

Young Sam had done it. He had sneaked into the tribe village, found a bow and arrow, saved the wizard and then led the tribe warriors on a quick run around the island, picking them off one by one. Such a feat may sound impressive, but if Young Sam was being honest with himself, it was all rather simple. A small tribe with no schooling, no outside thinking, and whose biggest challenge was knocking coconuts out of trees were not difficult to outsmart and out manoveur.

Still, if anyone asked, Young Sam would claim he fought seven hundred of them off with his bare hands. No one need know that had been barely two dozen of them.

"I say, hello."

He spun round and saw, to his mild surprise, the wizard sitting on the beach. Rincewind had taken his boots off and had been enjoying the feeling of sand in between his toes.

"You?"

"Yes," Rincewind confirmed, "Me."

"What are you doing?"

"Not much. I don't think there's much to do here anyway."

"What can we do, then? How do we get off this island?"

"Erm..."

"Oh, come on," Young Sam moaned, "You _are_ a wizard, aren't you!? I know you nearly blew us up on the boat but you must be able to do something."

"I can do lots of things, thank you very much."

"Oh, good."

"I can sit here, I can enjoy the sun, I can lie down and take a nap, too."

"You're bloody useless."

"And you are far too young to be cursing, young man. What's your name, anyway?"

"Sam."

"Rincewind."

"Well, I guess we're stuck here."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Have you got a plan?"

"No," Rincewind admitted, "But I reckon someone's got a plan _for_ me. They usually do."


End file.
